


Too Much (But Not Enough)

by executionersong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, First Kiss, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Repression, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, also rowena is mentioned because shes alive for some reason, kind of, projecting on dean winchester as usual, sam/eileen is mentioned but not present, sort of just pretending the finale didn't happen, this was supposed to be funny but then ended up kind of serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executionersong/pseuds/executionersong
Summary: When they got to the car, Cas let go of Dean for a moment to open the door and Dean slid to his knees in the damp grass in front of him, grabbing at Castiel’s coat. “Cas,” he said urgently, trying to broadcast directly into Cas’s mind.“What?” Cas was trying to pick him up off the ground. “Are youprayingto me right now?”“I can’t stand it, Cas.”“Can’t stand what, Dean?” Cas finally succeeded in piling Dean into the backseat of the Impala, and now he stood in front of the door with the sunset turning the sky the color of fire behind him.“When you’re not here,” Dean said.Cas hesitated for a split second, his face carefully guarded. “It’s going to be okay, Dean.” Cas slammed the door and got into the front seat. “You’ll be okay,” he repeated.Or: Dean and Cas go on a hunt together and Dean has a strange spell put on him.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	Too Much (But Not Enough)

After Jack brought Cas back, things got weird.

It wasn’t weird at first, of course. At first, Dean was overjoyed to have him back. So happy, in fact, that he didn’t have to think about the time between the confession and when Cas came back. Or the confession itself. And Cas didn’t mention it, either, and everything was back to normal, so it didn’t really matter. It was in the past – why bring it up?

Part of the deal Jack made to get Castiel out of the Empty was the condition that he become human, so his grace would dwindle a little bit everyday until he was fully human – it could take years, apparently. In the meantime, Sam and Dean were happy to try to prepare him for a lifetime of being human. For example: how to brush his teeth (toothpaste goes ON the toothbrush), how to cook (alternatively, how to order takeout), how to fall asleep (no, you don’t literally count sheep), the wonders of caffeine (and why it can totally replace sleep, according to Dean), and how to shower (well, Cas can figure that one out on his own).

After a while, though, there was nothing else to talk about, nothing else to take care of, no more apocalypses to stop, and then Dean couldn’t stop thinking about it – the confession.

The things Cas had said when they were both about to die. The way he’d looked at Dean, eyes shining with emotion, and told him _I love you_. And worst of all, the way he had looked so incredibly _happy_ as the Empty took him. Dean had known with absolute certainty – just as he’d known all those years ago when Castiel saved him for the first time – that he didn’t deserve it. And he knew now that he didn’t deserve Cas.

And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was starting to drive him insane.

He knew they should talk about it, but the thought of it made his heart race, his hands sweat. He was afraid he would ruin everything. That the way things were when Cas came back – easy, happy – would be lost, or that, even worse, Cas might leave. Dean didn’t think he could take it if Cas left. He’d already been gone for so long, and who knew what Cas might get up to if he left? What he might end up doing, out there in the world as a brand new human? What if he started a life, started a family?

Dean had pushed the thoughts out of his head. No, he would just…not bring it up. There was no need to talk about it. He was happy just to have Cas back – he wasn’t going to ruin it by talking about something that happened in the past.

But that was then, and this was now, a few months later, when Sam and Eileen had left for some romantic getaway in Miami (of all places), leaving Dean and Cas alone together in the bunker – going on cases alone together, eating meals alone together, watching the new season of American Horror Story alone together. And it was getting _weird_.

Like, sometimes when Dean cooked dinner for them while Cas researched whatever case they were currently on, and they were arguing about something stupid like putting pineapple on pizza (Cas _liked_ it, the savage), Dean would randomly catch Castiel just staring at him over the top of the laptop, and he would have to pretend not to notice.

Or sometimes when Cas came into the garage with a beer to give Dean while he worked on the car, and Dean's fingers would brush Cas’s knuckles for a millisecond while he took it, and it would feel like the air was oddly thick with words neither of them were saying.

And sometimes when they watched movies on movie night (Dean maintained that movie nights commenced regardless of who was home), there would be a moment during the credits where Dean was sleepy and relaxed, Cas beside him, where he would have to fight the urge to lay his head on Cas’s shoulder and close his eyes. Once he even did fall asleep on the couch during Die Hard 3 and woke up to find that he was pressed against Cas and perilously close to drooling on him. He’d jerked awake and retreated, apologizing, to the other side of the couch, while Cas had looked quite unperturbed, which made Dean feel even stranger.

Oh, it was so weird.

Dean wasn’t sleeping well. He needed something to do.

So Dean found an interesting case that seemed like it might take his mind off things. A rash of killings in a town nearby, all under mysterious circumstances. A dead body covered in burns from no apparent source, reports of a woman drowning in a sink, a cop who had been eaten alive by beetles, pretty standard stuff. So Dean and Castiel had gone to investigate it. And that’s how they’d ended up here, in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, trying to chase down an amateur witch about to make a very stupid decision.

“Look,” Dean warned her, one hand in the air. “If you finish that spell, the demon is going to come through and – trust me – you will not like what happens next.” With his other hand behind his back, he signaled to Cas to sneak up behind the witch.

She slowly lowered the knife, her eyes wide and remorseful.

“Good,” Dean encouraged. Then, quick as a cat, she flicked a small object through the air towards him and he reflexively snatched it out of the air before it could hit him in the face. She hissed, “ _Locus dimittere vestri_ ,” and he opened his hand to stare dumbly at the tiny purple hex bag in his palm. Motherfucker.

He made eye contact with Castiel from behind the witch, trying to wordlessly inform him that things were _not_ going according to plan.

Cas seemed to get the message, his eyes giving Dean the impression of _Oh shit_.

Then the witch slashed her palm and squeezed a trickle of blood into the copper bowl at her feet. Cas made a dive for her as she began to chant in Latin.

Dean went to go help Cas, dropping the hex bag, but before he could take a step he was doubled over with pain. He collapsed to the cold cement, a burning sensation spreading through his body in an extremely alarming way. He smelled sulfur and in his peripheral vision he saw the demon that the witch had been summoning slither out of the bowl and proceed to force itself down her throat, as Dean had predicted it would. Castiel pulled his angel blade out and lunged for the now-demon-previously-witch and Dean retained consciousness for just long enough to see Cas stab her through the heart.

Then he promptly blacked out.

He came to thirty seconds later with his face stinging. “Dean? Are you okay?” God, was Cas slapping him? Dean opened his eyes to see Cas with his hand inches away from Dean’s face. Wow.

“Dean?” Cas repeated. He was kneeling next to him on the cold floor.

“S’ok, Cas, I’m ok, I’m fine.” Dean sat up. His head felt like it was full of something fuzzy. A wave of dizziness rolled over him and suddenly the world exploded into a shower of silver sparks. Oh, he was not fine. He was – he was…he was mesmerized by the way the lights overhead reflected on Castiel’s hair. “Cas?” he murmured, dazed. “When did you get so beautiful?” Holy shit, it was like a halo.

Cas stared at him. “What?”

“You look…you look like an angel, Cas.” Dean grabbed the front of his coat.

“I am an angel, Dean.”

God, he _wa_ s. “I know. What’s up with that?” He was rocked suddenly by a revelation. “Cas, you’re supposed to be in Heaven!”

Cas looked extremely concerned, a line creasing between his brows. “We need to get you back to the bunker.” He heaved Dean to his feet and half-carried him back to the car with his arm around Dean’s shoulder, a development that Dean felt inexplicably delighted about.

When they got to the car, Cas let go of Dean for a moment to open the door and Dean slid to his knees in the damp grass in front of him, grabbing at Castiel’s coat. “Cas,” he said urgently, trying to broadcast directly into Cas’s mind.

“What?” Cas was trying to pick him up off the ground. “Are you _praying_ to me right now?”

“I can’t stand it, Cas.”

“Can’t stand what, Dean?” Cas finally succeeded in piling Dean into the backseat of the Impala, and now he stood in front of the door with the sunset turning the sky the color of fire behind him.

“When you’re not here,” Dean said.

Cas hesitated for a split second, his face carefully guarded. “It’s going to be okay, Dean.” Cas slammed the door and got into the front seat. “You’ll be okay,” he repeated, pulling out his phone.

“God, my head,” Dean groaned, writhing around in the backseat. It felt like it was going to explode. He gripped it, vaguely aware of Cas dialing and speaking to someone that sounded like Rowena. Then he started the car, the vibration of the engine sending bolts of pain through Dean’s head. His mind drifted, thinking of working on the Impala, of watching movies and cooking dinner; thinking of Cas with light streaming from his eyes and mouth, of Cas pulling him close and then pushing him away.

He felt arms around him. Cas’s arms, he was pretty sure. He could tell because they felt nice and rather familiar holding him up. Less nice, however, was the cold air that hit him in the face as the arms pulled him out of the car. He buried his face in Castiel’s coat, inhaled that comforting Cas smell. They were back at the bunker, Cas trying to unlock the door while supporting Dean. “Cas?” Dean asked. His head was swimming.

Cas stopped fumbling with the door for a second to peer down at Dean. “How do you feel, Dean?”

“My head hurts.”

“I know. Rowena says the spell the witch used was a very simple curse with a simple cure. We have all the ingredients here.”

“I feel strange, Cas,” Dean slurred. “What did the spell do?”

Cas frowned. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.” He led Dean down the stairs of the bunker, through the main room, and into a chair.

Dean felt like he needed to _tell_ Cas something – something important – but he couldn’t quite remember what. He squeezed his eyes shut through the ache in his head, listening to Cas’s hurried footsteps throughout the bunker as he gathered the ingredients for the cure. A loud _clank_ on the table startled him and he opened his eyes to see Cas dumping vials of odd colored liquids and various animal bones from an illegibly labelled plastic baggie into a copper bowl in front of him. His coat was off, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair fell in his face. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Perhaps that was what he had wanted to tell Cas.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” Dean told him conversationally. He thought he could watch Cas for hours. He would, if his head wasn’t killing him.

Cas didn’t look up from what he was doing, though his cheeks turned pink. “Thank you, Dean.”

“I wish I was different, you know, Cas?”

Cas looked up and his eyes searched Dean’s for a moment before he went back to adding ingredients to the bowl. He struck a match, the flame dancing briefly above his fingers, then dropped it in. There was a plume of fire; when it had gone down, there was a viscous dark liquid coating the bottom of the bowl. Cas poured this carefully into a vial.

Dean stood up abruptly. He was suddenly starving. He set out for the kitchen with an unsteady gait, lurching like a man who had been lost at sea. Behind him, Cas called out in exasperation, “Where are you going?”

“Kitchen,” Dean informed him. He made it a couple more steps before his rubbery legs gave out and he found himself unceremoniously on the floor. Cas crouched next to him. “Here, open your mouth.”

“I’m not drinking that. I want a sandwich.”

“Dean.”

He tried to glower at Castiel, squinting his eyes in pain. Cas glowered right back, except it was more intimidating on him.

Dean gave up. “Fine. Give it to me.”

“No.” He yanked the vial out of Dean’s reach. “Only a couple drops at a time. Open your mouth.”

Dean opened his mouth wide like a child. “Ahh.”

Cas rolled his eyes and used the eyedropper to place a few drops on his tongue, Dean recoiling immediately at the foul taste. “Sorry, Dean,” Cas said. “Rowena says it has to be taken a couple of drops at a time, every hour for six hours. Otherwise it can be toxic.” He hesitated. “Actually, she said it has a small chance of killing you, but in time the spell will burn you out and you will die regardless.”

Dean wasn’t listening, his sandwich aspirations forgotten. It seemed like the world was dissolving into silver sparks again. Dean thought he could feel them settling down on his shoulders, his hair, and on Castiel’s eyelashes. He reached out to touch them but at some point along the way his arm got too heavy and he ended up simply placing his hand on Cas’s cheek. It felt nice. Soft, despite the drag of omnipresent stubble. Dean thought that he could probably pull Cas down to bring his face level with Dean’s, which for some reason was something he wanted very much to do, but now he was finding it difficult to move at all. Which was a necessary component of the whole operation, Dean observed placidly. Instead, he just stared into Cas’s lovely blue eyes from his current position on the floor.

“I’m worried,” Cas muttered, moving Dean’s hand as he spoke. “This spell is affecting you strangely.”

Dean was thinking that it felt very nice to touch Cas; he was wondering why he so rarely did so before. He felt vaguely like there was some reason he wasn’t supposed to touch Cas. He had been afraid that something would happen, perhaps. Trying to remember what he’d been afraid of was like trying to hold water in his hands, though; Dean soon gave up and just marveled at the feeling of Cas’s arm around his shoulders as he helped him to the bedroom. He laid Dean on the bed and Dean closed his eyes, wincing at a new pain in his stomach now to add to the pain in his head. He felt something at his feet and opened his eyes just a crack to see Castiel tugging his boots off at the end of the bed. Dean felt a peculiar sensation of warmth bloom in his chest. “Thank you,” he told him.

“I’m going to go call Sam.” Dean heard Cas move into the hallway and dial. Soon, he was listening to the low murmur of Cas’s voice through the door. He felt very tired. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake. “Come on, Dean. You have to take it again.” Cas’s hand hovered over Dean’s face with the stupid eyedropper, the other on his jaw. Dean was beginning to feel like a baby bird. He knocked the hand away and took the eyedropper himself, squeezed the antidote into his mouth, shuddering.

He was beginning to feel truly awful, presumably from the cure that might just kill him, but he also seemed to still be in the grips of the spell, whatever it was. Unable to control himself, he blurted, “I think we should knock down one of the walls in the bunker.”

“Which one?” Cas replied calmly, settling back down on a chair next to the bed. Dean thought that it looked like he’d been there for some time already.

“The one between the kitchen and the main room.” Dean groaned; his head was killing him, and now his stomach felt like it was trying to escape his body. “I want a bigger kitchen.”

There was a pause. “I think that’s a load-bearing wall, Dean.”

“Oh.” He concentrated on preventing his guts from making a break for it. “Cas?” He just couldn’t stop himself.

”Yes?”

Dean felt like he was speaking through a mouthful of cotton. “Please don’t leave.” The silver sparks began to threaten at the edges of his vision.

There was a note of something Dean couldn’t name in Cas’s voice as he replied, “I won’t, Dean.”

“No,” Dean interjected randomly, wondering distantly where he was going with this. “I mean, don’t leave me.” He gestured vaguely with the arm that was working the best. “Us. Home, the bunker. Me.”

Cas didn’t respond immediately and Dean suddenly felt a terrible sense of urgency. He heaved himself onto his side with a great deal of effort in order to blearily meet Cas’s eyes. “Cas,” he said. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed to spill out, getting faster with each one. “I treat you like shit sometimes – all the time – and it’s not fair to you and if you ever decided to leave, I wouldn’t blame you. But - ” He stopped to ride out a wave of pain in his head, and then continued uncertainly, “ I think I’m not supposed to say this and I can’t fucking remember why, but I just want you to know – “ he broke off again, his sudden burst of energy draining away. “I don’t want you to go, Cas.” He realized he had tears in his eyes. “You’re my best friend.”

Castiel gave him a soft, slightly sad smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Dean.” He reached out and took Dean’s grasping hand, his skin cool and dry against Dean’s. Dean hadn’t even realized he’d been looking for Cas’s hand, but he was certain now that he had been.

Dean sighed, feeling reassured. “Thank you.” The pounding in his head seemed to abate a little at Cas’s touch.

After the second hour was up, Dean was feeling quite sure he would be in the fraction of people who don’t survive the cure. He was shivering, sweaty, and his stomach hurt like he had been stabbed. His head was still aching, but at least it didn’t seem to have gotten worse.

After Cas had given him the next dose of the antidote – Dean had been too exhausted to complain this time – he’d insisted Cas get off the uncomfortable chair (Dean knew it was one of the shitty ones from the kitchen) and get in the bed. He had noticed, despite his hazy state, that Cas was starting to nod off every once in a while, his chin touching his chest and his eyes closing for a couple seconds at a time before he woke with a barely perceptible jerk.

“I can’t,” Cas protested. “Rowena said this needs to be taken every hour.”

“You can set an alarm.”

“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll watch you. Just go back to sleep.”

“Why do you do this for me, Cas?” Dean murmured, his eyes already closing.

“Because I love you, Dean,” Castiel said simply.

Dean was already drifting back into what passed for sleep now – it was more like a frothy, red-tinged wave that carried him into a semi-consciousness state. Barely aware he was saying it, he responded, “You can’t love me.”

The next time Cas woke him up, Dean accepted the eyedropper to the mouth like he really was a baby bird. He felt like he’d been in a fight with several vampires and a hellhound or two. His stomach hurt worse than his head at that point, so he figured that if he was going to bite the dust that night, it wouldn’t be by way of exploding head at least.

Dean jumped at the sensation when Cas pushed the sweaty hair off his forehead and pressed his hand against his skin, checking his temperature. Dean watched him do it with mild interest, following the track of his fingers through the air with dull eyes, and noting distantly that Cas seemed alarmed at the heat of his skin. He missed the pressure of Cas’s skin on his own when it was gone.

He felt almost desperate for Cas to be near – he wondered, half delirious, if perhaps Cas was the cure to the curse, not whatever was in that stupid vial. He felt like he couldn’t be safe until he was totally sure of the presence of the angel – until he could feel Castiel physically next to him, his skin, his hands, his face, his lips. Dean started to feel hot underneath the chills.

“Cas,” he muttered through the haze.

“What is it?” Cas answered immediately.

“Can you just come here? Just lie down next to me?”

Cas hesitated. Dean groaned at another stab of pain, curling into a ball, and Cas seemed to make up his mind. He got up and delicately arranged himself on top of the blankets next to Dean, who lay sweaty and shivering beneath them.

Dean reached out to take Cas’s cool hand and pressed it to his own burning cheek. He sighed with contentment, despite everything. “I love you,” he murmured thickly. He felt Cas stiffen slightly before relaxing again, but he was already being carried off again into a shallow, restless sleep, his head on Castiel’s arm.

The next three hours seemed to pass in fits and starts, time feeling alternately viscous like honey and as slippery as mercury. Cas woke him up three more times to drip antidote into his mouth. Slowly Dean began to become more aware of his surroundings, feeling more like a person, his head clearer.

After the last time Cas woke him up, Dean hadn’t fallen back asleep but had stayed awake, listening while Castiel’s breathing slowly evened out into sleep. Cas, who had taken care of him all night. Who lay curved towards Dean even now, as if ready to protect him even in sleep.

Dean was very conscious of Cas’s weight on the mattress next to him, of the fact that Cas was close enough to touch, clad only in a t-shirt and a pair of Dean’s old jeans, the exhaustion and worry that had lined his face now smoothed out in sleep.

Transfixed, he reached out to trace the outline of Cas’s jaw, then moved up to brush his fingers through the soft hair behind his ear. He pulled his fingers back as Cas stirred.

“Dean?” he murmured, shifting slightly to face him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He had meant to say more, but he stopped himself.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel…” Dean thought about it. “Okay.”

“Your stomach?”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Cas smiled in sleepy relief. “Good.” He closed his eyes again.

Dean watched the first rays of pale dawn light creep through the window blinds and wondered why he felt like he’d lost something.

* * *

Over the next few days, Dean avoided Cas as much as possible, which he couldn’t do very well considering that they were alone together in an underground bunker literally sealed off from the outside world.

Apparently Sam and Eileen had wanted to come home when Cas called them, but he’d talked them out of it, saying he was handling it. It had occurred to Dean that Castiel had been protecting him in his subtle way, letting Dean suffer his indignity with minimal spectators. He was grateful, although he was trying not to think about the whole episode in general.

In fact, Dean was intensely embarrassed about the whole thing – he kind of wanted to go get himself kidnapped by some vamps or something just so he didn’t have to avoid Castiel’s eyes when he accidentally walked into the kitchen while Cas was pouring a bowl of cereal or whatever.

The things he’d _told_ Cas, God. The fact that Castiel had stayed up all night with him, taking care of his pathetic ass like he was a baby. He’d practically made Cas get in bed with him, for God’s sake. Oh, it was humiliating. He almost wished for some new apocalypse, just to put him out of his misery.

And then he had gone to find the old Men of Letters multi-purpose spellbook to look up the spell, wondering why he had said and done the things he did while he was under it. Had it been a love spell or something? It hadn’t felt the same as it did when those other witches had cast a love spell on him. So what kind of spell would make him say those things? And why did Dean feel so strange about it, like a weight had been lifted from him? Maybe he was just finally losing his marbles. God knew he’d been through enough.

He found the book surprisingly easily – he’d thought he would have to hunt for it, but it was just on a side table in the main room. He located the page with the spell. It identified the spell at the top as the _Locus Libertatem_ and described the same incantation the witch had used, noting that it was one of the few spells a beginner witch could cast. Below the incantation, the book detailed its effects:

_Removes all inhibitions and constraints from the target, causing them to be ruled by their desires, fears, and impulses. Kills target after 24 hours if cure is not administered._

It went on to list the ingredients for the cure – a grocery list of unpleasant items – but Dean was already lost in thought. It wasn’t a love spell at all, of course.

On one hand, he was glad, because his mind kept straying to the press of Cas’s fingers on his cheek, the curve of his lips in the morning light. But on the other hand, he thought, that meant that everything he’d said to Cas had been true.

Although perhaps that was something he’d known all along, deep down.

He realized that was the weight that had been lifted from him – the weight of all those words. Dean realized that he had desperately wanted to tell Cas – wanted him to _know._ Everything. Everything he’d said while he was borderline delirious and more. And he still did, even.

And on some level, Dean thought, the revelations coming fast and relentless now, it wasn’t just that he didn’t think he deserved Cas, although that was true; it was also that he knew that admitting to himself how he felt would make it so much worse, so much more painful, if he lost Cas again. Either by some new fucking apocalypse or simply of Cas’s own free will. And it was a terrifying prospect, yes, but he couldn’t go on like this, letting Cas walk around not knowing – thinking that it had just been some stupid love spell or something.

He went to the kitchen to find Castiel before he lost his nerve. The angel was making a PB&J, frowning in concentration. He licked strawberry jelly off the knife as Dean watched.

Dean took a deep breath and went in. “Cas, we need to talk.”

Cas looked up curiously. “Okay. About what?”

“About…what I – what I said.” Dean was already stumbling over his words. Not a good sign.

“Ah. I understand, Dean. You were under a spell.”

“I know. The thing is, Cas, I looked up the spell and it’s not, like, a love spell or anything.” Dean felt his face grow warm and he surged ahead, talking faster. “It just made me – uh – unable to have inhibitions, apparently. I couldn’t stop myself from saying or…or doing anything. So I just wanted you to know, I guess, that I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean, I just didn’t, you know – _want_ – to say it.”

“I know,” Castiel said simply.

Dean stared at him. “You do?”

“Yes. I read about it in one of the Men of Letters spellbooks.”

Dean swallowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Cas looked a little sad. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. If you don’t want me to know how you feel, then that’s okay.” Dean blinked. Oh. Cas continued, “You were under a spell, Dean. I’m not going to hold you to what you said while you weren’t in control of yourself.”

Dean raked a hand through his hair, thinking. “No,” he said. “No, Cas, I do want you to know how I feel.” He hesitated. “I just didn’t want to ruin things between us. I didn’t want to…to lose you.”

Castiel looked surprised, like this hadn’t occurred to him. “You could never lose me.”

Dean didn’t say anything, preoccupied with the warmth that the words had sent blossoming in his chest, but Cas seemed to take this as an indication that Dean didn’t have anything else to say, and he moved closer to Dean, his brow creasing with focus. “I understand if it’s too difficult for you. I know you have trouble letting others know how you feel. And I want you to know that I never wanted or…or needed you to tell me.”

Things weren’t going according to plan, Dean thought. He was fucking this up. He had intended to be doing the talking here – for Cas to understand how he felt, not the reasons why he couldn’t tell him. He felt a little frantic. “I _want_ to tell you, Cas. You deserve to know.”

Without thinking, he reached out, closing the gap between them, and recklessly touched Cas’s face, smoothing out the crease between his brows with his thumb. Dean let his hand rest on Castiel’s cheek, feeling mildly out of control. “I want to tell you,” he repeated, his voice suddenly husky.

They were now very close and yet Cas didn’t move, his eyes searching Dean’s face. His pupils were dilated, his eyes dark. “Then tell me, Dean.”

And Dean kissed him.

At first it was an impulse kiss, born of Dean’s desperate need to communicate something he couldn’t find the words for, and then it began to feel like something else entirely. Cas’s lips were soft under his, and they yielded under the pressure of Dean’s mouth, tasting slightly of strawberries. Dean heard a small sigh escape Cas’s throat, and he felt every intention he’d walked into the kitchen with begin to melt away, his head full of the feel of Cas’s lips. He took Cas’s face gently with both hands, marvelling at the simple pleasure of touching him again, and then pulled back before he could lose himself fully.

“I love you,” he told him, so close his lips almost brushed Castiel’s again as he spoke. Cas looked at him with his eyes wide, his face flushed but so open and full of wonder that it made Dean’s heart ache. He made a noise low in his throat, his hands tangled in the front of Dean’s shirt, and pulled him in again.

Dean had meant to kiss him gently, lovingly again, saying all the things he wanted to say, but as Cas kissed him back, his hands pulling at Dean until they were pressed together intoxicatingly close, Dean forgot he had anything to say at all, focused only on the noises Cas was making now and the movement of his mouth against Dean’s, and the kisses began to get frantic, out of control, almost sloppy. The warmth in Dean’s chest had turned into outright heat, spreading throughout his body irresistibly like liquor. His mouth seemed to open of its own accord, his tongue touching Cas’s lips, which parted for him hungrily.

And now Dean’s hands were all over Cas – he couldn’t stop himself. In his hair, at his hips, pulling him closer, closer even as Dean moved forward himself. There was a muffled thump as Castiel’s back hit the wall Dean had unintentionally pushed him against, and Dean felt Cas smile under his mouth, driving him half out his mind with desire. He moved to kiss Cas’s neck, one hand on his jaw and the other still pressing him against the wall. He tasted the salt of Castiel’s skin on his tongue, heady and arousing, before Cas gave a low growl and tugged Dean’s mouth back up to his own with his hands in Dean’s hair.

“Dean,” Cas said against his lips, his voice hoarse, and Dean relished the sound of his name in Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel pushed away from the wall without breaking the kiss, still easily stronger than Dean despite being partially human. He turned them around and suddenly Dean was the one with his back against the wall, Cas with one hand twisted in Dean’s shirt and the other on his neck.

He felt Cas’s fingertips on the skin below his jaw, tracing their way to his collarbone and leaving trails of electricity in their wake, and then his mouth in the same spot, hot and wet and rough in a way that elicited a helpless, strangled groan from Dean’s throat. Castiel broke away at the sound, looking concerned and a bit self-conscious. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

“No, no,” Dean panted. “It’s okay, it’s just…really good, Cas.” The curve of Cas’s flushed lips, the dark fan of his eyelashes – he really was devastatingly beautiful.

Cas pressed another kiss to his mouth, gentler now but with his hands still moving, still pulling Dean’s body into his. Dean felt like he was approaching the point of becoming overwhelmed, his skin feeling like it was on fire from Cas’s touch. His breath was coming in gasps, his heart racing. His legs felt unsteady.

Cas seemed to recognize the effect he was having on him and he even seemed to be enjoying it, a realization that sent a thrill through Dean. Nevertheless, he pulled away from Dean again, leaving him lightheaded and ducking his head in an attempt to mindlessly follow Cas’s lips, and just gazed at him.

“I love you too, Dean,” he told him with a small smile, and his expression was so impossibly tender that it made Dean’s already fragile heart stutter.

It dawned on him then, seeing Cas look at him like that, that Cas really loved him. He, Dean, was wholly, truly loved by an angel – albeit a partially human angel. And it didn’t matter if he deserved it or not; Cas loved him anyway. Even after everything.

He felt like something inside him was finally coming loose – some knot of self-hatred and repression that he hadn’t been fully aware was present, but which he was now relieved to feel come undone.

Castiel leaned in to kiss him again – deliberate now, almost languid – and Dean met his lips eagerly.

When they finally broke apart, some time later, their foreheads pressed together, Dean was reflecting on all the time together they’d lost out on; the times they’d been apart or one of them had been dead, of course, but also the time they’d lost because Dean had been unable to admit to Cas – and himself – how he really felt. He’d been so afraid of the exposure, the vulnerability of it all, and the fear was still there, but now he knew that there was _more_. On the other side of the fear, Cas had been there, waiting for him.

He wanted to tell Cas what he was thinking, and he did. He didn’t articulate himself perfectly, but it didn’t matter, because Cas understood anyways.

“There’s something about this whole, you know…saying how you feel…thing,” Dean admitted, feeling a little foolish. “It makes me feel…happy.”

Castiel smiled then. “You know, Dean,” he said, leaning in. “Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in the being. In the saying.”

Dean smiled too, his eyes on Cas’s lips again. “But the having feels pretty good, too.”

### Notes:

A/N: Thanks for reading! Kudos or comments very appreciated!! 


End file.
